


A Bouquet From the Heart

by JonsaInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 20:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonsaInTheNorth/pseuds/JonsaInTheNorth
Summary: Jon tries to brighten Sansa’s day with some flowers, not knowing the complex code of floral communication used throughout the southron courts.Inspired by this.





	

The glass gardens are one of the last structures in Winterfell to be rebuilt after the sun graces the world again and the Long Night comes to its end. Sansa, Jon, and their advisors had hoped to rebuild the gardens before winter truly settled in but the glass was a special import from Dorne and the roaring snow gusts had made it impossible for the glass to arrive in time.

The gardens are warmed through the tunnels of hot water that sear through Winterfell’s walls, and it is not long before the gardeners can send fresh herbs to the kitchen. The thyme and parsley and basil is followed by tomatoes and lettuce, pease and carrots, squash and potatoes. And finally, the flowers.

They bloom bright and lovely, sprouting up in the free spaces the gardeners can find. They come in a rainbow of colors, from reds to blues to purples to yellows, and an array of shapes, large and small and narrow and wide, beautiful and bountiful against the pale skies outside the keep.

Jon finds himself wandering through the gardens at all hours, remembering the times they spent running through the former enclosure when he was a child. The flowers remind him of a simpler, happier time, although he is happy now. Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon are all home and safe, still his family even if the blood is more distant than they were told. 

He breaks his morning fast with them all, before turning with Bran to the ledgers of the keep or riding out to inspect the lands. In the afternoon, he leads Rickon and Arya in their fighting lessons. By night, he sits by Sansa’s side in one of their solars, the family gathered quietly before a warm hearth and exchanging stories from their days.  

One particularly gloomy day, he finds himself in the glass gardens, gazing at each flower to admire its sight. He reaches a particular one, and Jon is struck with memories of Sansa weaving crowns of petals for all their family when Arya was still to young to not want them in her hair.

He reaches forward and plucks a pretty yellow flower, followed by a green one. Swiftly, Jon assembles a bright, colorful bouquet in his hands. Without any other means to present them, he ties them together with the leather thong he normally uses for his hair.

Sansa sits in her solar, patching a hole in one of Arya’s few dresses. She sews embellishments over the place where her sister ripped it, trying to hide the damage the best she can.

“Sansa?” He asks tentatively, with a light knock on the door. There are times she wishes not to be disturbed while she is at her work, but today is not one of them. Sansa sets aside her needle and the dress to smile brightly at him.

“Yes, Jon? What brings you around here at this time?”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly embarrassed at his idea. Without a word, he holds out the bouquet to her. Sansa takes it, but her face remains impassive as she inspects the floral arrangement.

“I saw them, and remembered your love of flowers from our childhood and thought of you.” He mumbles, hoping the explanation will make her happier at his gift.

“Jon,” she begins, voice wavering enough to worry him. “Every flower you’ve given me carries some kind of an insult in its meaning.”  

The girl she was would have thrown the flowers back at him, but the woman she is can’t stop laughing. Sansa doesn’t curse him for not understanding, but laughs until her belly aches. He joins her, sitting on a chair.

Jon had no idea there was a language to flowers. He sits, entirely enthralled, as Sansa explains their unspoken messages. This yellow carnation means disappointment. The pretty petunias are for resentment and anger. Another yellow sprig is an unwillingness to forgive. 

And the bright green flower in the middle of the arrangement tells the receiver they have a cold nature, with a heart made of stone.

Jon balks at that. Sansa is sweet and kind, the first to reach out to her siblings when they have nightmares of their time away from Winterfell. She smiles kindly at him when he stutters through an apology.

“I know you didn’t mean it, Jon.” Sansa stands and sets the flowers against the mantle of her hearth. She steps to Jon and brushes a light kiss against his forehead. “Thank you, truly. The flowers mean a world more of good than the meanings others give them.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and come fangirl about GOT and ASOIAF with me on [tumblr](http://www.jonsa-in-the-north.tumblr.com).


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